Teasers, Crackfic, and Pointless Crossovers
by iwright
Summary: Exactly what the title says: Short crossovers written for no reason other than fun.
1. Chapter 1

''Voldie, sweetie - ''

''Voldemort. Vol-de-mor'. It's only three syllables.'' Voldemort considered Cruciating the Muggle. But no, he needed the man's business skills. And besides, the scrawny weasel would probably like it.

''Whatever you say, baby. But listen, back to business, you've got to understand it's just a matter of scale.''

''Scale?'' Voldemort growled behind clenched teeth. ''I am the Dark Lord! I am the terror in the dark, the monster under your bed! People flinch at the mere sound of my name!''

''Exactly,'' said the gaunt man sitting across the desk from Voldemort. ''We need a villain who's more of a match for the kid.''

''**WHAT?**'' Voldemort did give in to his anger. The Dark Lord Cruciated the man, and regretted it as soon as he shuddered and rolled his eyes.

''Oooh yeah. Listen Voldie, if you ever want to get out of the villain business I know a place in Nevada that could use skills like that.''

_Producers_, thought Voldemort. Some things disgusted even him.

''How could I possibly be anything other than the perfect villain for _any_ Harry Potter crossover?''

''You're great,'' the fat man said. ''That whole snake thing you've got going on? Beautiful. And the way you work those sinister robes? Love it. But this kid...''

''Yes all right, what about 'this kid'? How could I not be a match for an eleven year old boy from the middle of nowhere?''

''He can bench-press a tractor.''

Voldemort paused. He considered this carefully. ''When you say tractor...''

''Not one of your little British deals. We're talking one of the American monsters, about as big as the orphanage you grew up in.''

''I... See.'' The Dark Lord had to admit that was pretty impressive. ''However! I can kill a man with a single spell!''

''Yeah, we figure if you hit the boy with five or six of those it ought to do the trick.''

''Five or six... I can do that.''

''Did I mention that he can run at three hundred miles an hour?''

''Er...''

''And that he's got the reflexes of a hummingbird on its third shot of espresso?''

''Er...'' The Dark Lord fell silent for a moment. ''So, 'scale' you say?''

''Yeah. A crossover with this kid needs a villain who's on kind of a... Higher level, than you. That's kind of a good news bad news situation, I've gotta say.''

Voldemort sighed. It was disappointing not to be involved in the story. But the thought of a fist driven by muscles that could bench-press a tractor, swung at his head by someone running at three hundred miles an hour... It was enough to give even a Dark Lord chills. ''Well, all right. Give me the good news first.''

''Well, the good news is there's no way your Boy Who Lived will last half a second against the new... Guy. The Boy Who blah blah blah will be like a snowflake in the way of a flamethrower.''

Voldemort liked the sound of that. ''And the bad news?''

There came a sound like thunder, driving the thoughts from his mind. A rolling roaring wall of sound that drove the Dark lord from his seat and to the floor. A brilliant rainbow-light filled the room and left Voldemort blinded by the revelation. Even as the light and noise faded he found himself blind and deaf.

And through the deafness came a voice louder than thunder and more terrible.

**I**. **Am**. **Your**. **NEW!** **GOD!**

**I** **will** **take** **you** **to** **a** **hell** **without** **exit** **or** **end**, **and** **there** **I** **will** **annihilate** **you**! **You** **will** **surrender** **your** **sanity** **and** **your** **soul** **to** **me**! **I** **will** **make** **you** **crawl**! **And** **beg**! **To** **die**!

**DIE** **FOR** **DARKSEID!**

The Dark Lord's eyes rolled back in his head. ''Mother,'' he whispered, just before fainting.


	2. Chapter 2

''Where are we now, Grandfather? Are we home?''

It pained him that she called that place, that time, home. He should have had so much more to offer the child. The old man didn't speak his thoughts. He stepped out of his TARDIS, his poor broken TARDIS, and into the hallway beyond. ''I don't believe so,'' he told his granddaughter Susan. ''Wait inside for now.''

There were children in the hallway, dressed in oddly Medieval robes. Between the stone hallway lit only by wooden torches and the black robes of the children one might have thought they had found their way to the Medieval Era. But their hairstyles and shoes were too similar to those of the time and place the old man had lived in for so long.

But it was not home. No, that place was never home. Home was the maelstrom of probability, the endless whirlpool of chance and fate. And he would not accept his exile from it.

There were children in this place, and their odd calm acceptance of a police box appearing from nowhere was another argument against the Medieval Ages. The old man looked down at the calmest of the children, a dark-haired sloe-eyed boy of perhaps eleven or twelve. ''You there, young man. Who are you? Where are we?''

The boy looked at the old man with an expression of utter calm, and looking past that expression the old man knew this child hated him.

''My name is Tom Riddle. And this is Hogwarts.''


End file.
